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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28698147">Love Knows Not Its Own Depth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annaelle/pseuds/Annaelle'>Annaelle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Julie and The Phantoms (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1990s, 2000s, 2010s, Alternate Universe, Bobby | Trevor Wilson Defense Squad, Bobby's Not A Dick, But Also Lots of Love and Comfort at the End I Promise, Caleb Covington Is A Dick, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Rated M for language, Reggie Becomes A Ghost First, Sunset Curve, This is A Lot Sad, Willie and Reggie are Ghost Besties, for once</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:28:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,115</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28698147</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annaelle/pseuds/Annaelle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Something tugged hard at an invisible hook behind his sternum and he was falling—</p><p>Reggie collided hard with the pavement, knocking the air from his lungs. He blinked up at the sky, dazed and confused, and wondered if he’d somehow managed to screw up the afterlife so badly that they’d just chucked him right back out. </p><p>Relex AU - Reggie comes back as a ghost immediately. Alex and Luke do not.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alex Mercer/Reggie Peters (Julie and The Phantoms), Bobby | Trevor Wilson/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>142</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. ONE : JUNE 1983 – NOVEMBER 1995</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/What_point/gifts">What_point</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi everyone! </p><p>Welcome to this wonderfully angsty, sad Relex AU that What_Point basically dared me into writing ☺️ Alex and Reggie do, eventually, end up together in this one, I promise 😅 This fic starts off the premise that Reggie, who died first, comes back first as a ghost too. </p><p>Go forth and enjoy, hopefully!</p><p>I have most of this work planned, but I am in the middle of my exam month, so time for writing has been sparse, and my updates will likely be slow for a while. Apologies for that! </p><p>For those following the An Anchor, A Port in a Storm series, I'm working on that, I didn't just abandon you with an evil cliffhanger, I promise 😉 </p><p>Love<br/>Annaelle</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Love Knows Not Its Own Depth </strong>
</p><p><em>“</em> <em>Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.</em> <em>”</em> <em><br/><strong>― Khalil Gibran</strong> </em></p><p>
  <strong>ONE </strong>
</p><p><em>“But fate ordains that dearest friends must part.</em> <em>”</em></p><p><strong><em>―</em></strong> <strong><em>Edward Young</em></strong></p><p>
  <strong>JUNE 1983<br/>Willie</strong>
</p><p>Willie had been a ghost long enough to have established a certain routine.</p><p>When he’d first died, the afterlife had been chaotic and confusing. All he’d been able to focus on for the first few weeks had been the blinding, nauseating pain of his head cracking against the pavement and the absolute <em>agony</em> of his arm and legs bending in ways they were absolutely <em>not</em> supposed to bend. He’d spent weeks stuck like that, having stumbled out of his body, stuck exactly as he had died, and had wondered, vaguely, if those assholes who’d called him fag and weirdo had been right after all, and he really <em>was</em> stuck with eternal damnation, eternal <em>agony</em>, for having a penchant to fall head over heels for pretty boys with bright smiles.</p><p>He’d been stuck like that, stumbling, groaning, in pain and afraid for <em>weeks</em> before Caleb Covington had found him and had broken him from his shocked, shaken stupor and shown him that the injuries that had cost him life didn’t need to define his death.</p><p>Willie didn’t <em>trust</em> the man, but he was grateful that Caleb had taken the time to show him how to fix himself, how to break himself from the shock of death, how most of the afterlife worked.</p><p>He was grateful—but he was not an idiot.</p><p>When Caleb extended an invitation to join his so-called club, Willie had taken one long, hard look at the place and the other ghosts and turned it the fuck down. Caleb hadn’t been happy about it, but that he hadn’t fought Willie on his decision, had only reaffirmed that the offer would be there in case Willie got <em>lonely</em>.</p><p>Willie hadn’t deigned to tell the man that he could be the loneliest person in the world and he’d still swim to the bottom of the ocean to talk to a fucking shark before he’d go back to Caleb.</p><p>Once Caleb had let him go, Willie had made an effort to find his family, to figure out what had become of them in his absence. His mom… his poor, sweet mother, who had tried her best to do right by her three children, and his older sister, who had taken it upon herself to raise him and their littlest sister in their mom’s absence, and his little sister, who loved it when Willie taught her how to skate and who laughed and loved with such wild abandon that it scared him sometimes.</p><p>Willie <em>needed </em>to know how they were—how they <em>coped</em>.</p><p>He hadn’t… he hadn’t liked what he found very much.</p><p>He had hated being forced to <em>watch</em>, being unable to <em>help</em> even more.</p><p>He hadn’t been back to see them in years, had barely stuck around long enough to see his littlest sister being sent to court-ordered rehab.</p><p>He’d tried, but he <em>couldn’t</em>.</p><p>He couldn’t take it.</p><p>Instead, he’d developed a routine. In the mornings, he’d skate around a new neighborhood—a different one each time, until he had skated them all, at which point he’d start over—and in the afternoons, he’d keep an eye on the house his mom and sisters lived in.</p><p>He wasn’t strong enough to watch their lives up close, couldn’t <em>bear</em> to see their grief over his death when he was <em>right there</em>, but he could… he could keep an eye out.</p><p>Roughly a decade after he’d died, he’d watched his mother and older sister—both beautiful and strong and <em>amazing</em> as they had been on the day he died—move their belongings out of the house and hand the keys over to a very young couple with wide smiles and slightly manic eyes.</p><p>The woman was also pretty heavily pregnant, and she certainly didn’t look like she should be on her feet for as long as it took to exchange keys and walk around the house, but Willie was a little more focused on his sister and mother, who mentioned casually that they were moving to New York to be closer to the youngest member of their family, who lived in New York with her partner and was an artist.</p><p>It’d relieved some of the worry he still carried around and had made it easier to accept that they were finally moving on with their lives.</p><p>He had watched them leave and stayed.</p><p>He stayed and watched as the couple that had bought the house he had once lived in lived their lives. They were, at first, not very remarkable. They had their baby—a boy with a shock of dark hair and bright, intelligent dark eyes—only a month after they moved in, and spent years living happily with just the one child before Willie noticed the woman’s belly swelling once again, noticed the way the man eyed her growing belly with something akin to dread, to resentment—</p><p>He watched as a second boy was born, just as pale and darkhaired as his older brother, but with eyes the color of forests and a tiny grin on his tiny face.</p><p>Willie watched, helpless, as the family descended into chaos, as the father accused his wife of all sorts of things, as he ignored the youngest boy even as he clamored for his father’s attention and approval. Willie watched, feeling nauseated and powerless, as the eldest boy tried to protect his little brother the same way Willie’s sister had protected him—</p><p>And he watched as it got the oldest boy killed.</p><p>The way he died was so damn similar to Willie’s own death that he nearly left altogether, but he remembered his own disorientation, his pain and confusion after he’d died, and he stuck around.</p><p>The boys were playing on the driveway, tossing a basketball back and forth—although the oldest boy, at thirteen, spent most of the time chasing the ball when the youngest, at five, dropped it. The older brother didn’t seem put out though, and he and his little brother spent most of their time laughing uproariously, and Willie, sat on the garden wall, laughed with them.</p><p>Nothing was wrong until, in the span of a single heartbeat, <em>everything</em> was.</p><p>The littlest boy had dropped the ball again and chased after it, laughing, when their father’s car turned onto the driveway <em>way too fast</em>and—</p><p>Willie barely had the time to scream, barely had the time to react at all, but the oldest boy somehow <em>did</em>, sprinted towards his little brother and shoved him out of the way before the car hit <em>him</em> instead with a sickening <em>crunch</em>.</p><p>“Oh God,” Willie choked as the little boy <em>screamed</em>, and the father stumbled out of the car smelling strongly of liquor, his face pale and horrified as he looked at the spreading pool of blood beneath his oldest son’s head. The youngest boy continued screaming, confused and terrified and <em>God</em>, Willie wished he could tell the boy to look away, that he could tell him this wasn’t a memory he wanted, but—</p><p>But then the father burst into action and backhanded the little boy across the face and bellowed at him to shut his stupid face, to get away before he did even more damage and then their mother was running outside, <em>wailing, </em>and someone must’ve seen because Willie could hear police sirens and ambulances and—</p><p>And they were all too late.</p><p>He’d never actually see someone die before, and he hoped he never would again, because seeing that little boy, that wonderful older brother float out of his own body was weird and distressing and the only reason Willie didn’t lose it was because he remembered how scared and confused he had been.</p><p>“Hey,” he said quietly, calmly, trying to block the kid’s view of his parents and little brother. “Hey, kid, can you look at me?”</p><p>The kid turned wide, terrified eyes on him. “What happened?”</p><p>Willie sighed, relieved that the kid didn’t seem to be as hampered by his death as Willie had been and beckoned him closer. “Come on,” he replied, “Let’s talk about this somewhere else.”</p><p>“I’m not supposed to go with strangers,” the kid said, eyes straying towards his family.</p><p>“Well,” Willie said, moving so he was blocking them from view again. “I’m Willie. What’s your name?”</p><p>“Mickey,” the boy said automatically. “I mean, Michael. P—Peters. I’m Michael Peters.” Willie smiled reassuringly—as reassuringly as he could manage—and shook the boy’s hand.</p><p>“Nice to meet you, Mickey,” he grinned. “Now we’re not strangers. Can you come sit with me on the beach, right over there,” he pointed, “so I can explain what’s going on?” Mickey looked between him and his family again, uncertainly and confused, before he nodded.</p><p>“Okay,” Willie exhaled in relief, and took Mickey’s hand, guiding him towards the beach.</p><p>As soon as they were seated, Mickey looked at him and whispered, “I’m dead, aren’t I?”</p><p>Willie sighed, “Yeah, kid. Yeah, you are.”</p><p>“Oh,” Mickey said sadly. He looked over his shoulder and said, “Who’s gonna take care of Reggie? I can’t—I can’t be dead. Someone’s gotta take care of him.”</p><p>“Kid, that’s not—” he tried, but the kid seemed to be working himself into a fever pitch, muttering about his little brother and his little friends and their dad being a douchebag, and—well, it wasn’t like he was <em>wrong</em>, but Willie didn’t exactly want this kid to be stuck here for eternity either.</p><p>“I’ll do it,” he interrupted, putting one hand on Mickey’s shoulder. “I’ll stay. I’ll make sure he’s okay. <em>I promise.</em>” He could almost <em>feel</em> the added weight, the invisible chain of the promise weigh him down, anchoring him to earth, to this existence, and he knew it’d worked.</p><p>The kid’s unfinished business was now his.</p><p>When Mickey looked back at him, his eyes were brimming with tears, and he whispered, “I’m scared.”</p><p>Willie swallowed thickly and shook his head, tugging the younger boy close to hug him. “It’s okay,” he said, voice shaking just a little. “You don’t have to be scared. You can go. I’ll make sure he’s okay.” He squeezed Mickey tighter and whispered, “You can go.”</p><p>Mickey sobbed, once, and choked, “<em>Thank you</em>,” before his weight suddenly disappeared from Willie’s arms, and he was alone again.</p><p>He glanced over his shoulder towards the house.</p><p>He’d made a promise.</p><p>Willie stood and brushed what little sand had managed to cling to him off.</p><p>He was going to keep his promise.</p><p>
  <strong>--------------</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>SEPTEMBER 1995<br/>Reggie </strong>
</p><p>Death was not what Reggie had expected it to be.</p><p>To be fair, he hadn’t had many expectations of it in general. He’d only been seventeen, he hadn’t spent very much time thinking about his own mortality, so any and all expectations he’d had had been formed by mandatory Sunday school and sermons from Father Andersen.</p><p>Needless to say, it’d all been entirely wrong.</p><p>Dying had <em>hurt</em>, and he’d been <em>terrified</em>.</p><p>Not for himself, but for Alex and Luke, who had been right beside him, who had been <em>dying</em> right beside him even as he floated out of his own body. Looking down at his own body had been dizzying and disorienting, and looking at Luke and Alex had been nauseating, because Reggie had <em>known </em>he was dead, but he couldn’t <em>bear</em> the thought of them dying too.</p><p>There hadn’t been anything Reggie could do to save them though, because he was catapulted headfirst into all-consuming darkness before he’d even fully realized what was going on. He’d been alone in the dark, as far as he’d been able to tell, and he’d hoped that meant Alex and Luke had <em>survived</em>, that they were safe and healthy.</p><p>The darkness was entirely oppressing, all-consuming and total, and Reggie couldn’t even see his own hand when he held it out in front of him.</p><p>He didn’t know what this place was, didn’t know if he were in heaven, hell or purgatory, but he knew he was completely and utterly alone. Reggie had never been this alone in his entire life and he didn’t know what to do with it, didn’t know how to <em>deal</em> with it—</p><p>His thoughts were <em>loud</em>, louder than he could ever remember them being in life, louder than he could drown out with his sobs, louder than he could scream the lyrics for the songs he’d written and rehearsed with Luke and Alex and Bobby until their fingers bled, so <em>loud</em>that it was almost <em>deafening</em>.</p><p>And then something tugged <em>hard</em> at an invisible hook behind his sternum and he was <em>falling</em>—</p><p>He collided <em>hard</em> with the pavement, knocking the air from his lungs. He blinked up at the sky, dazed and confused, and wondered if he’d somehow managed to screw up the afterlife so badly that they’d just chucked him right back out.</p><p>He was so dazed and confused that it took him a few seconds to hear and recognize the music that was being played just a few feet away. He rolled his head to the side and blinked at Bobby, who sat collapsed on the wet grass, guitar resting on his knees and tears running down his cheeks as he whispered the words to <em>Long Weekend</em>.</p><p>“Bobby,” Reggie whispered, clumsily rolling onto his knees and then his feet. “Bobby, I’m here.”</p><p>He stumbled towards his friend as fast as his shaking legs could carry him, falling to his knees in front of him, reaching out shaking hands to grasp at the other boy’s fumbling fingers. He gasped, shocked, horrified, when his hands passed right through Bobby’s, when Bobby didn’t even react to anything he said, when, for all intents and purposes, it looked like he didn’t see him at all.</p><p>“Bobby,” He pleaded, trying desperately to grasp at his friend. “Bobby, I’m right here, please, tell me you can see me. Bobby!”</p><p>Bobby didn’t respond at all, continuing to pluck at the guitar strings and whispering the odd lyric, staring ahead as tears ran down his cheeks. Reggie kneeled in front of his friend hopelessly, desperately, tears running down his own cheeks because <em>he was dead</em>, and Bobby was crying and no one was here to comfort him, and they… they were alone here, weren’t they?</p><p>Alex and Luke would never let Bobby grieve alone.</p><p>Reggie stared, despairingly, at the headstones behind Bobby, some weathered and worn and others smooth and untouched by time…  He turned, slowly and desperately wishing he was wrong, that he’d only find his own name staring back at him.</p><p>
  <em>Luke Patterson                                                        Reginald Peters                                     Alexander Mercer<br/>12/21/1978 – 07/22/1995                                 12/17/1978 –07/22/1995                 02/21/1978 – 07/22/1995 </em>
</p><p>The sound that wrenched itself from his lips felt like it was <em>torn</em> from his lungs, an animalistic sound that he hadn’t known he was capable of making. “No,” he cried, scratching at the headstone fruitlessly, his hands passing through the cold stone without any sort of resistance, “no, <em>please</em>, no.”</p><p>The mere idea of existing without Alex and Luke was <em>horrifying</em>, and their absence, their <em>loss</em> felt like they’d been ripped from him <em>violently</em>, leaving gaping, bleeding wounds where they used to fit into his very soul. Reggie had known both of them his entire life, had grown up with them, had <em>loved</em> them—both in <em>wildly</em> different ways—and he… he didn’t know how he was supposed to <em>be</em> by himself.</p><p>Reggie had been one of three for so long that he had no idea what he was supposed to do alone.</p><p>They’d even <em>died</em> together.</p><p>How could he be sent into an afterlife that didn’t hold Alex? An afterlife without Luke? How was he supposed to exist without Alex to roll his eyes at him and hold his hand, to smile at him fondly when Reggie said something silly, to hold him so tightly Reggie couldn’t even remember why he’d been sad in the first place? How was he supposed to <em>function</em> without Luke there to grip his shoulder and grin at him, to help him prank Alex when he was in one of his moods, to sing him songs to cheer him up?</p><p>He wanted them back.</p><p>He wanted to crawl into Alex’s arms and hold him, press his nose against the hinge of his jaw and breathe him in, listen to him tell stupid jokes that only made sense half the time and cry until he had no tears left and he—he couldn’t.</p><p>He was <em>alone</em>.</p><p>Bobby was here but he didn’t <em>see</em> him, didn’t <em>hear</em> him, and Reggie—Reggie wanted his best friends... He wanted <em>Alex</em>, and he wanted <em>Luke</em>, because when they were all together, nothing had seemed impossible, nothing had seemed insurmountable, and—he wanted… he wanted this to stop hurting. This hurt was raw and fundamental, reaching so deep into him that it was almost like his very bones ached with it.</p><p>He sat, staring blindly at their headstone, for so long that the sky darkened and Bobby left, whispering words of regret and contrition and his knees went numb. It was an odd thing to notice, considering he was dead—he wouldn’t have thought things like that would still be able to bother him.</p><p>He wondered who had made the call to bury them together.</p><p>It’d probably been Luke’s parents—they’d been more of a mom and a dad to Reggie than his own had been, and Alex’s parents had probably gone no further than to cover their share of the bill. They hadn’t ever been cool again after Alex had told them he was gay, and while they hadn’t kicked him out, they’d made it very clear they didn’t approve either.</p><p>Reggie couldn’t imagine them putting much of an effort into this either, and <em>clearly</em> someone <em>had</em> put a lot of thought and effort into their headstone.</p><p>He didn’t know if that was comforting or not.</p><p>He did know that it was comforting to see their names etched into stone together.</p><p>He hated that Alex and Luke hadn’t escaped this fate, that they hadn’t been spared, but at least their names were now forever linked together—whoever had paid for the headstone had even etched the <em>Sunset Curve</em> logo, the one Alex had so diligently sketched out and that they’d painted <em>everywhere</em>, into the top of the stone.</p><p>Reggie reached out, hovering his fingers just above the stylized letters.</p><p>Alex loved sketching and drawing—he had for as long as Reggie could remember—almost as much as he loved playing the drums. When they’d come up with the name for their band, inspired by the view on the pier where they played a lot before they’d officially started the band, Alex had pulled out the sketchbook he carried around everywhere and he, Reggie and Luke had spent several hours coming up with the logo.</p><p>When Bobby had joined the band, he’d suggested the bright colors in the background, had praised Alex for the gorgeous styled letters and had helped them print and paint the logo on T-shirts, a large backdrop for gigs and Alex’s drum set.</p><p>Reggie <em>loved</em> their logo.</p><p>The fact that Alex had come up with it only made him love it more, and it only made his heart hurt more now, to see it etched into their gravestone.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the stone, fingers trailing down from their band logo until they hovered over Alex’s name. “I shouldn’t have dismissed you. You always knew when something was up. I should’ve listened to you. I’m <em>sorry</em>, ‘lex.” Fresh tears ran down his cheeks and his hands shook violently, passing through the stone several times before he got a hold of himself.</p><p>“I love you,” he breathed, so softly he barely heard himself, a secret admission he wished he’d said aloud when they were alive. There’d been… <em>moments</em>, moments where he’d been <em>sure</em> that Alex knew, that Alex <em>understood</em> exactly what Reggie had been too afraid to say.</p><p>He’d thought they’d have more time.</p><p>“I should’ve told you that,” he said quietly, wiping at his tears impatiently. “I should’ve told you that every day, because I <em>do</em>, Alex, <em>I love you</em>. I’m sorry I didn’t ever tell you that when we were alive, but… I was going to. After… After the Orpheum. I even told Luke.” He wrapped his arms around himself, mimicking the way Alex and Luke had always hugged him the best he could by himself and admitted, “I don’t know where you are, but… I hope you two are there together.”</p><p>He looked around at the deserted graveyard and shivered. “I don’t think I mind being here by myself as long as I know you two are somewhere safe together.”</p><p>“A very noble sentiment, that,” a voice rang out from behind him.</p><p>Reggie spun around on his knees, nearly falling flat on his face as he did so, to stare at the tall man dressed fully in black with an old-fashioned top hat that stood behind him.</p><p>“Who—” he began, before realization hit him and he abruptly changed tack, “<em>You can see me</em>?”</p><p>The man smiled—a wide, somewhat unsettling smile—and tilted his head to the side. “Why yes. Yes, I can, dear boy.” Reggie managed to get to his feet, staring at the tall stranger in bafflement.</p><p>One of his best friends hadn’t been able to see him, hadn’t heard him or reacted to anything Reggie had said, but this stranger—this man he’d never seen before—</p><p>He froze. “You’re dead too,” he said.</p><p>It wasn’t a question.</p><p>The man smiled again, this time a smaller, sadder smile. “Yes, I am. And so, dear boy, are you.” He glanced over Reggie’s shoulder at the gravestone and made a sad, sympathetic noise. “And so dreadfully young too.” He shook his head. “Tragic.”</p><p>Reggie stared at him, and the man smiled again before offering him his hand in a smooth, practiced gesture. “Caleb Covington, at your service. Now I’ve been dead for quite some time, but if I remember those first few months correctly, I imagine you have a lot of questions.” He gestured broadly at the entire graveyard and said, “I’ll gladly answer them, of course, at a more… <em>suitable</em> location.”</p><p>“Reggie,” Reggie said slowly, reaching out to shake Caleb’s hand uncertainly. “I’m Reggie. Peters. Where—where do we even go if not here?”</p><p>Caleb released his hand and patted his shoulder lightly. “Leave that to me. Come. This is no place for a young ghost like you, all by yourself. We’ll return to my club, where I’ll gladly answer any and all questions you have about the afterlife.”</p><p>Reggie swallowed thickly and looked over his shoulder at the headstone he shared with Alex and Luke. What if they showed up too, when he wasn’t here? What if they’d already been here and they’d just barely missed each other?</p><p>What if, by leaving now, he’d lose his chance to see them again forever?</p><p>Caleb seemed to intuitively know what he was thinking, because he patted Reggie on the shoulder again and offered him a reassuring smile. “If your friends should appear, you’ll likely be drawn to them. The bond between true friends surpasses even death. You’ll be able to return whenever you want.”</p><p>Reggie nodded shakily. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”</p><p>Caleb smiled brilliantly, blindingly, and offered Reggie his hand again. “Come then. Let’s go.”</p><p>Reggie, slowly and feeling like he was making a choice he couldn’t reverse, put his hand in Caleb’s, and the world blurred and went dark with a <em>plop</em>.</p><p>-------------</p><p>
  <strong>NOVEMBER 1995<br/>Reggie </strong>
</p><p>Reggie loved staring out at the ocean.</p><p>There was something inherently soothing about the eternal push and pull of the water, the rushing noise of it, the way the sound drowned out all other noises—especially that of his parents fighting. It wasn’t something he worried about so much anymore, because the whole <em>being dead</em> thing kind of put things into a whole new perspective.</p><p>Still, the ocean was comforting in a way nothing else had been since he’d died.</p><p>True to his word, Caleb had answered a lot of Reggie’s questions about being dead and a ghost before he’d offered Reggie a spot in his house band. He’d let Reggie catch a show, and while Reggie <em>was</em> impressed, the thought of picking up his bass and playing something without Luke and Alex made him feel sick. Caleb seemed disproportionately disappointed when Reggie refused, but he’d not retracted the offer, promising that, whenever Reggie was ready, the offer would be there. </p><p>Reggie didn’t think he’d ever be tempted to take Caleb up on his offer.</p><p>The Hollywood Ghost Club had been, in a word, <em>overwhelming</em>. </p><p>The Hollywood Ghost Club was loud and so bright it nearly hurt his eyes, and it was so overwhelmingly different than what his life had been like that Reggie could barely deal with it without collapsing into hysterics every time he saw something new—and there were <em>a</em> <em>lot</em>of new things.</p><p>So, after the overwhelming, shiny <em>newness</em> of the Hollywood Ghost Club, Reggie had retreated back to what he knew best—the beach in front of his old house.</p><p>He’d spent <em>so much</em> time here when he was alive, alone and with his friends, that it was the only thing that still felt <em>normal</em>. It was the only thing that kept him from falling headfirst into a panic attack without end, honestly.</p><p>He hadn’t yet found the courage to actually check in on his parents yet, even though they were only a few feet behind him in the house, even though he’d heard them shouting just a few hours ago—it stood to reason that his death wouldn’t have changed that either.</p><p>Thunder roared and lightning cracked above his head, and he looked up blearily to find the sky dark and grey, clouds twisted into wrought, unrecognizable shapes and rain pouring down in thick, uninterrupted sheets of icy cold drops.</p><p>He hadn’t even noticed. He could barely feel the rain at all. It was like he wasn’t really all there–and in a way, he supposed, he <em>wasn’t.</em></p><p>He was dead, after all.</p><p>“Hey buddy,” a voice suddenly rang out beside him, and before Reggie could turn to look, someone was plopping down on the sand beside him. “You can’t go sitting around in the rain like this, you’ll get sick, and then your friends will be super worried again, so you better go inside, okay? I know it sucks, with your parents, but it’s better than catching your death out here—”</p><p>Reggie turned, wide-eyed and <em>very </em>confused, to look at the guy sitting beside him. He was handsome, and if Reggie wasn’t in love with Alex and, you know, <em>dead</em>, he might consider flirting with this strange man—who had to be dead too, right? How else would he be able to see Reggie?—but as it was, all Reggie did was gape at him, because he was the first person since Caleb that had been able to see him.</p><p>Time passed a little funny when you were dead, and Reggie had no idea what day it was, or even how long it’d been since he’d died, but he felt…</p><p>He felt like it’d been a long time since he’d talked to anyone.</p><p>“I don’t think I <em>can</em> get a cold anymore,” he quipped weakly, trying for a smile when the other boy whipped around to stare at him with wide, shocked eyes.</p><p>“You can see me? You can <em>see </em>me! You’re <em>dead?!” </em>The boy shouted in alarm, grabbing at Reggie’s shoulders and shaking him urgently. “I leave you alone for five fucking minutes and you go and <em>die</em>? What the hell, kid?!”</p><p>“I—” Reggie choked, leaning back from the other boy as much as he could with him still holding onto Reggie’s shoulders. “I’m sorry?”</p><p>“You’re—you’re <em>sorry</em>,” the other boy exclaimed in exasperation, releasing Reggie’s shoulders and throwing his hands up in the air. “You’re <em>sorry</em>?! God, kid, how the hell do you even end up dead at <em>seventeen</em>, you were <em>fine</em>! I left you with your friends, you were <em>rehearsing</em>, how the hell did you manage to die?! Did you trip and break your neck?”</p><p>Reggie blinked. “Why do you care?” He blurted as soon as the other ghost stopped to take a breath he probably didn’t need, trying <em>very hard</em> to make sense of anything the guy had said, but he was drawing a complete blank. He was very sure he’d never seen this guy before, because he would’ve <em>remembered</em>—he was in love with Alex, not blind—and he didn’t think his friends or family knew him either.</p><p>He couldn’t remember anyone in their vicinity dying in recent memory.</p><p>At his words, the other ghost deflated and shook his head, rubbing his hands through his long, messy hair. “Shit, I don’t even know how to explain all of this. I never thought I’d have to.”</p><p>Reggie tried to offer a reassuring smile and said, “Maybe start with who you are?”</p><p>The other ghost huffed out a laugh, shaking his head lightly before turning to grin brightly at Reggie. “That’s fair, man. I’m Willie. I’ve been around for a while. My family used to live right there,” he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder towards Reggie’s house, “before they sold it to your parents. I kind of stuck around. I’ve sort of known you your whole life.”</p><p>Reggie blinked.</p><p>“Right,” he drawled uncertainly. “Cause that’s not creepy at all.”</p><p>Willie laughed again and Reggie, despite how miserable and lonely he still felt, smiled too. “I know it’s weird,” Willie chuckled, and when he grinned at Reggie, there was something that almost felt familiar about his expression, something Reggie could’ve <em>sworn</em> he knew. “I think I kind of just got attached,” Willie admitted sheepishly. “I couldn’t follow my family, so I kind of settled into getting to know yours.”</p><p>Reggie swallowed thickly and glanced over his shoulder. “I guess I get that,” he nodded slowly. He hesitated, something in his chest constricting painfully before he asked, “Did you—were you around when—when Mickey—”</p><p>Willie inhaled sharply in understanding, and his expression melted into one of compassion.</p><p>“Yeah,” he nodded slowly. “Yeah, I was.” Before Reggie could say anything, or ask anything, Willie gave him a sad little smile and continued, “He’s not around anymore. He moved on.”</p><p>“Oh,” Reggie exhaled, and tears burned in his eyes again.</p><p>He’d hoped… he’d hoped that maybe Mickey was still here, maybe he’d be able to see his big brother again—that, even if he didn’t have Alex and Luke, he’d at least have Mickey. Maybe that really was too terrible a thing to wish on his brother though; to have been stuck here, watching their parents fall apart one argument at a time, watching Reggie grow up and get himself into trouble that Alex and Luke and Bobby had to drag him out of every time.</p><p>Maybe… maybe it was better that Mickey hadn’t been around to witness the mess his family had become in his absence.</p><p>“He loved you,” Willie said, and Reggie looked back up at him in surprise. Willie offered him a small smile and continued, “Before he moved on, the only thing he wanted to know was that you’d be okay. He adored you. He wouldn’t go until I promised I’d stay.”</p><p>Tears rolled down Reggie’s cheeks freely by now, and he’d feel embarrassed about crying in front of Willie, who was essentially a stranger, but since Willie had apparently been around for most of Reggie’s life, he figured he’d probably seen Reggie do more embarrassing shit than cry for his brother.</p><p>Willie, indeed, didn’t seem put off by Reggie’s minor emotional breakdown and just slung an arm around him. “Let it all out, bro,” he said quietly, and Reggie sobbed his way through a laugh because he sounded <em>just like</em> Luke always had, and if he closed his eyes, he could pretend the arm around him was his best friend’s.</p><p>“What am I supposed to do?” He cried, tilting sideways into Willie’s arms. “I don’t—what—what do dead people even <em>do</em>?”</p><p>“Well,” Willie replied quietly and softly, “Mostly I take my board and skate wherever I want to. Everywhere I couldn’t when I was alive. And I checked in on you a lot. Tried to make sure you were alright, you know, since I promised your brother.”</p><p>Reggie exhaled a shuddering sigh, “What about the ghosts at the Ghost Club?”</p><p>Willie stiffened, and when Reggie looked up at him, confused, Willie was frowning. “You’ve met Caleb already?” The other ghost demanded.</p><p>Reggie nodded, feeling a little unsure.</p><p>Willie blew out a long breath and shook his head. “I know I don’t have any say over what you do, but Reggie… <em>Please</em> stay away from Caleb Covington. I know he’s good at presenting things, but…” Willie shook his head again with a frown. “I’ve got a really bad feeling about him and that Club of his.”</p><p>Reggie blinked the last of the tears away, and though he felt lighter, like a load that had been weighing him down had been lifted, he was still incredibly confused.</p><p>“He didn’t seem that bad,” he protested feebly, but it was a hollow protest and they both knew it. Reggie didn’t <em>know</em> Willie, but the other ghost inspired a kind of trust that Caleb <em>hadn’t</em>, made Reggie feel safe and secure in a way he’d sorely missed since dying.</p><p>“What do we do then?” he asked quietly.</p><p>Willie grinned. “Oh, buckle up, kid. I’m going to show you a whole other side of Hollywood.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Two : SEPTEMBER 1999 -  FEBRUARY 2009</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone! </p><p>I'm so sorry for the long wait on this second chapter. It's a long chapter though, so I hope that makes up for it!<br/>Unbeta'd, please excuse the mistakes!</p><p>Love<br/>Annaelle </p><p>PS TW for a panic attack and manipulation! Take care of yourselves, lovelies ❤️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>TWO </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves, ebbing and flowing</em>
  <em>.</em>
  <em> Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>―</em>
  </strong>
  <strong>
    <em> Vicki Harrison</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>UNNAMED BAR, L.A. – SEPTEMBER 1999 </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Reggie</strong>
</p><p>It still startled Reggie, sometimes, to find how oddly time passed now that he was dead.</p><p>It didn’t <em>feel</em> like it’d been four years since he’d died. It didn’t <em>feel</em> like four years had passed since he’d lost Alex and Luke. Losing Alex—losing Luke had torn into him, leaving him feeling flayed open and vulnerable and heartbroken, unable to muster up even the barest hint of emotion beyond all-encompassing sadness.</p><p>He’d been <em>shattered</em>, those first few months, barely able to set one foot in front of the other, losing his hold on reality and existence frequently, and the only reason he hadn’t slipped away into mindless, senseless ghoul-territory was because Willie had been there, dragging him back kicking and screaming.</p><p>Willie had reminded him that his friends had loved him, would’ve <em>hated</em> seeing him lose himself because of them, that they would’ve told him to keep going if they were there, to keep <em>breathing</em>—even if he didn’t need to anymore—but it felt like he was <em>empty</em>. </p><p>He kept trying though, and he kept going.</p><p>Willie was an <em>amazing</em> friend through it all. Reggie didn’t know <em>how</em> Willie put up with him, how he always knew when to find Reggie when his thoughts were slipping and his hold on reality became a little tenuous, how he always knew <em>just the right thing</em> to distract and cheer Reggie up.</p><p>Reggie had, since he’d died, learned how to skateboard, how to swim deeper and farther than he’d ever dared when he was alive, had snuck in backstage to concerts he’d barely even dared dream of before, and had seen the insides of more museums and celebrity houses than he’d thought possible. Willie was, if nothing else, very creative in his distractions.</p><p>Tonight was another distraction.</p><p>Reggie had tried to avoid music where he could, and though he’d gone with Willie to concerts before, he’d been careful to avoid things that reminded him of their own songs. It was one thing to listen to Bobby whisper the lyrics to their songs, to listen to the other boy try to recapture the magic in Luke’s lyrics by himself even though they both knew it would never sound the way it was supposed to without all four of them there.</p><p>It was another entirely to see and listen to bands he and Alex and Luke had liked, had been excited about, had wished they could meet one day.</p><p>Reggie had avoided rock bands for as long as he could, but the show Willie had dragged him to tonight included an upcoming band that was <em>good</em>, with music loud enough to fill the emptiness in him, that vibrated through him in a way that left it very difficult to overthink.</p><p>He let his eyes travel across the faces in the crowd absently, vaguely making note of the dark-haired woman—a ghost, he realized when someone walked right through her—who was bobbing up and down near the stage, her skin a deep, russet, reddish-brown, beautiful even under the dim lights of the club. His gaze drifted from her to the tall, portly man that was sweating into his hilariously out of place three-piece suit while he glared at the stage, cheeks flushed with heat and annoyance as he tried dodging the various clubgoers and groupies.</p><p>There were all kinds of people meandering through the large club, and Reggie kind of loved it.</p><p>His eyes travelled across a young man that was standing on the edge of the crowd, without really seeing him, briefly admiring the sharp line of his jaw and the bright blue of his eyes when the lights hit him just right, before he turned to look for Willie.</p><p>He took one step before his memory caught up with what he’d seen and he <em>froze</em>.</p><p>For one, excruciatingly short heartbeat, <em>Alex</em> looked back at him, lips parted like he hadn’t expected to see Reggie here either, wearing the same pink hoodie he had when he’d died, filthy with dried blood spatter and vomit—and then a flock of college girls passed between them, tittering and giggling as they moved from the dance floor to the bar.</p><p>By the time they were gone, so was Alex.</p><p>If he’d ever been there to begin with.</p><p>Reggie let a shuddering breath fall from his lips and ran his shaking hands through his hair, slipping around the corner to the bathrooms. His heart—deader than a damn doornail and yet still trying to kill him—felt like it was simultaneously trying to beat its way out of his chest and trying to lodge itself in his throat, obstructing his breath and making his head spin and his stomach churn.</p><p>He knew he hadn’t <em>really</em> seen Alex, knew that if Alex were anywhere in L.A., Reggie would’ve found him, would’ve <em>known</em>, but his skin itched with the urge to go back out there and <em>check</em>, to make sure that he’d been seeing things, that Alex hadn’t returned to Earth <em>just now</em>, confused and alone and afraid and probably overthinking everything, just like he always did—</p><p>His stomach turned sharply and he gagged, burying his face in his hands to wait out the wave of nausea. He couldn’t <em>really</em> get sick anymore, of course, but his soul remembered the feeling, and it liked to throw the memory of nauseating panic attacks at him whenever things like this happened.</p><p>It’d been a while since he’d thought he’d seen Alex or Luke.</p><p>When he’d been newly dead, he’d seen them everywhere he turned, had nearly driven himself crazy trying to find them, trying to figure out why he was there and they weren’t, but over time, the sightings had lessened and Reggie had long since learned that it was a side-effect of grief.</p><p>He didn’t startle when he heard someone stop right beside him, and he didn’t pull away when he felt Willie’s fingers wrap around his wrists, offering him the grounding touch he needed to draw himself from his downward spiral.</p><p>“Take a deep breath,” Willie instructed him calmly, waiting for him to comply before he moved one hand to rub his back gently. Reggieexhaled shakily, desperately trying to force the sight of Alex, standing confused and afraid, looking <em>exactly </em>like he had the last time Reggie had seen him alive, in the middle of the club out of his head.</p><p>He tried to forget the horror that had permeated his entire being when he remembered how he’d felt when he died, remembered Willie mentioning he’d been stuck the way he’d died for weeks before he’d figured out how to fix himself. Reggie remembered the pain, the nausea, the feeling like someone was forcing glass down his throat and the thought of Alex being stuck like that made him feel so sick he felt like he was dying all over again.</p><p>“Come on, kid, breathe,” Willie reminded him, smiling at him when Reggie inhaled sharply in response, nearly choking on the breath before he managed to exhale with a cough. “What happened out there?” Willie asked as soon as Reggie managed to slow his breathing to something vaguely resembling normal, patting his shoulder softly.</p><p>He looked worried and startled, now that Reggie was looking closely, and <em>God</em>, Reggie didn’t know what he would’ve done without him. Willie was his best friend, next to Alex and Luke, and Reggie was sure he’d be lost without at least one friend there to kick his sorry assinto gear.</p><p>“I saw Alex,” he whispered plaintively. “I saw him standing right there, like he was just <em>waiting</em> for me to see him, and then—then he was just gone again.”</p><p>Willie exhaled sharply and shook his head as he settled beside Reggie, levelling him with a serious look. “Shit, man, that sucks. I’m sorry.” Willie tapped his index finger on Reggie’s forehead and added, “You know that if he were here, you’d have been able to find him already. And I…” he hesitated, “I’m sorry you’re going through this. I know it’s hard. But I need you to remember that. I don’t wanna lose you.”</p><p>Willie was right.</p><p>Reggie had almost lost himself to this once already, had almost let the loss of his friends tear him apart to such an extent even they wouldn’t have recognized him anymore, but…</p><p>But.</p><p>He loved them.</p><p>He missed them.</p><p>He still wasn’t sure how he was supposed to <em>be</em> without them.</p><p>Reggie wrinkled his nose and sighed. “I know, man. I know. I just…” He shrugged helplessly. “I miss him. I miss them, both of them. I don’t feel <em>real</em> without them.”</p><p>Willie shook his head lightly. “I can’t imagine, okay? I really can’t, and I hate that, but I knew them well enough to know they’d hate that you’re doing this to yourself, Reg.” He smiled delicately and tapped his fingers on Reggie’s thigh. “Unfinished business are a horrible thing when they’re impossible to fulfill, but I know you know that they loved you.”</p><p>“I know,” Reggie said, and he focused on that, on knowing that his best friends had loved him as much as he loved them, determination bleeding into his words. “I <em>know</em> that.” He bit his lip so hard he almost tasted blood—and that still made no sense, because he was dead, he was a ghost, he didn’t <em>have</em> blood. “Unfinished business suck,” he whispered, shaking his head and exhaling shakily. “I should’ve just told Alex how I felt when we were alive.”</p><p>He <em>did</em> jump when Willie patted his thigh this time, looking up at him with wide eyes.</p><p>“Reggie,” Willie said kindly, softly. “He knew. I was there the entire time, remember? Neither of you said it out loud, but he knew.”</p><p>Reggie blinked <em>hard</em> against the tears that burned in his eyes and nodded shakily.</p><p>Alex had known.</p><p>That had to be enough.</p><p>It sucked that Reggie wouldn’t ever be able to finish his unfinished business because the person he <em>needed</em> to do that was already gone, but… but it helped, knowing that Alex had known. It helped him keep his sanity, helped him cling to whatever vestige of humanity ghosts had left.</p><p>It helped to know that Willie had his back.</p><p>“Thanks,” he whispered, tipping sideways to lean against the other ghost. Willie just nudged their shoulders together more solidly and smiled.</p><p>“Anytime, kid.”</p><p>--------</p><p>
  <strong>BOBBY’S APARTMENT, L.A. – APRIL 2001</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Reggie</strong>
</p><p>“Listen, all I’m saying is that this place could use some color,” Reggie chattered as he followed Bobby around his apartment, watching as his friend dug a pair of chopsticks into his Chinese noodles. “It’s very I’m-so-depressed-can’t-stand-life and that’s just not you.”</p><p>Reggie had taken to checking in on Bobby every few weeks to keep himself tethered to the human world, to make sure he didn’t lose time again. There had been a few times over the past six years where Reggie and Willie had strayed too far, where they’d forgotten to frequently check in with lifers, and lost <em>months</em> of time—it was almost like ghosts existed outside of any sort of linear timeline altogether.</p><p>They’d lost almost seven months last year, having swum too far out into the ocean, spending what felt like hours floating on the waves, diving deep to swim amongst large school of colorful fish that Reggie wouldn’t be able to identify for the life of him, never coming across another living soul until they’d returned to the beach and found out it was November.</p><p>It’d been late April when they left.</p><p>Reggie had had a minor afterlife crisis when they’d figured that one out, but Willie had managed to calm him down eventually, and settling in the routine of checking up on lifers from when he’d been alive—Bobby, Luke’s parents, Alex’s little sisters, his own parents—had helped.</p><p>He didn’t like looking in on his own parents, didn’t like seeing their marriage deteriorate any more than he had when he’d been alive, and watching Luke’s parents struggle with their heartbreak after losing their only son was enough to bring him to tears for hours at a time, but watching Alex’s little sisters—Ana and Ava, twin girls who were growing up to look so much like their older brother it almost hurt to look at them sometimes—always made him feel better.</p><p>The girls were fifteen now and, in defiance of their parents, both took part in several after-school music clubs, ranging from choir practice to drumming and guitar lessons and Reggie <em>loved</em> seeing it.</p><p>Alex would’ve loved seeing his sisters so free-spirited and happy.</p><p>They were also the only ones to regularly visit their grave other than the Pattersons, as far as Reggie could tell. Bobby went frequently during the first year after their deaths, but he’d admitted, at one point, that it was too painful, that it didn’t feel like they were there anymore, and his visits tapered out. He’d never once seen Alex’s parents there.</p><p>Bobby was… Bobby had been one of Reggie’s best friends. He hadn’t been as close to him as he’d been to Luke, or to Alex—although his feelings for Alex <em>had</em> been just a smidge different than his feelings for the other two—but that’d mostly been because he’d known the other two since they’d been in diapers.</p><p>He’d been close to Bobby, had loved him, and he was devastated to see just how much Bobby’s life had been utterly destroyed by what had happened to him, Alex and Luke.</p><p>The press had <em>jumped</em> on the story of three relatively healthy, handsome, talented teenagers dying tragically of food poisoning—although Reggie learned, after reading too many articles and Willie sneaking into the coroner’s office to read the autopsy report, that he’d actually died because he’d thrown up so hard he tore his stomach and bled out before anyone noticed, Alex’s asthma had been triggered somehow and his lungs had seized up so he couldn’t breathe, and Luke had had some kind of extreme allergic reaction—and they’d jumped on Bobby as the sole surviving member of the band.</p><p>He’d eventually changed his name to Trevor and moved to get away from the media scrutiny and Reggie couldn’t blame him either. If he’d been the one to survive, he wouldn’t want to spend the rest of his life being reminded of the day he lost his three best friends either.</p><p>He’d been doing better though, Reggie thought, although he <em>definitely</em> thought Bobby’s apartment could use some sprucing up. There were no posters or pictures on the walls except a picture of the four of them at the beach, taken three days after their first show in a club. Reggie’s had forgotten to wear sunscreen and his nose and cheeks were tinged very red, Alex had been due for a haircut, so his hair was half-covering his face and his nose was wrinkled, and Luke and Bobby had just spent half an hour trying to dunk each other in the ocean, so they were both still soaking wet, pressed close to Alex and Reggie with massive grins on their faces.</p><p>It’d been a good day.</p><p>Reggie could see why that was the one picture Bobby had up, but he wished there was <em>more </em>to Bobby’s life than working at a coffee shop and returning home to an empty apartment with nothing more than the bare essentials in there. There was a nook with Bobby’s guitar and amp and a comfy chair, and a couch and some bookshelves; but beyond that and a bed in the bedroom, there wasn’t much more and Reggie <em>hated</em> it.</p><p>He wanted to see Bobby happy and thriving, not <em>stuck</em>, like he was.</p><p>Bobby didn’t reply to him, of course, just continued shoveling noodles in his mouth as he flipped through his mail. Reggie kept up a steady stream of chatter, even though he knew Bobby couldn’t hear him, sitting cross-legged on top of the kitchen island, watching his friend eat and read his mail until he was interrupted by a loud knock on the door.</p><p>Reggie watched, wide-eyed, as Bobby jumped to his feet, running his hands through his hair in a feeble attempt to style into something resembling normal before rushing towards the door, opening it to reveal a very beautiful woman with long, blonde hair and a—rather haughty—smile.</p><p>“<em>Bobbert</em>,” Reggie gasped, ecstatic, “You have a <em>girlfriend</em>? Why didn’t you tell me?”</p><p>Bobby, of course, didn’t hear or respond to him, stepping aside to let the blonde in. “Did you talk to them?” He asked urgently, shutting the door behind her. “I thought you’d get back to me days ago.”</p><p>The woman crossed her arms over her chest and raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Bobby. “One-track mind, much? Here I thought you’d be happy to see me.”</p><p>“Yes, <em>Bobbette</em>,” Reggie said, although no one could hear him—he liked to pretend he was still included, still a part of Bobby’s life, even though he was <em>dead</em>—crossing his arms over his chest. “Look at how beautiful she is—you <em>should</em> make her feel welcome.” He looked around Bobby’s barren apartment and sighed. “As much as someone can feel welcome in this, anyway.”</p><p>He looked away though, when Bobby made an apologetic—if slightly impatient—noise and wrapped his arms around the woman, leaning in to kiss her.</p><p>When he finally dared look back at them, they’d relocated to the couch, Bobby nearly vibrating in place, waiting impatiently for the woman to begin talking. Reggie didn’t have the faintest idea what Bobby was trying to get the woman to do or who she was supposed to have talked to, only that it was apparently very important to Bobby that she did.</p><p>“They’re willing to meet with you,” she finally said, eyeing Bobby carefully. “But that doesn’t mean they’ll agree to your idea, Trevor. It may have been too long already—people barely even remember—”</p><p>“Then we’ll <em>make them</em>,” Bobby protested vehemently, so loudly that Reggie flinched back a little instinctively and the woman looked taken aback. “They deserve to be remembered,” Bobby continued, voice softening and his eyes growing slightly glassy—and with a jolt, Reggie realized Bobby was talking about <em>them</em>. “Luke,” Bobby whispered, voice thick, “Luke was <em>made</em> of music. He lived and breathed it and he and Reggie and Alex—it was—it was like they were in each other’s minds. They were <em>amazing</em>, and if they hadn’t—they would’ve made it big. <em>We </em>would’ve made it big.”</p><p>He cut off and took a deep, harsh breath and Reggie gulped in a breath too, not because he needed to, but because he might burst into tears if he didn’t and—and he didn’t know if he’d stop if he started.</p><p>“We would’ve been legends,” Bobby finally continued softly. “They deserve to be remembered like that. Luke’s parents, Alex’s sisters, even Reggie’s asshole parents… they deserve to know how fucking <em>talented </em>they were. They deserve to know they would’ve been rockstars.”</p><p>He shook his head, wiping at a couple of stray tears that ran down his cheeks, and Reggie abruptly realized he was crying too, wishing he could lean in and hug Bobby tight.</p><p>He was trying to <em>honor</em> them, was trying to make sure they’d be remembered—was trying to make sure their dream came true even after their deaths and Reggie… God, Reggie loved him for it. The woman seemed equally touched by Bobby’s passionate words and reached out, gently rubbing her thumb over his cheek to wipe away his tears.</p><p>“We’ll make them,” she said kindly. “We’ll make sure they’re remembered. We have the demo and we have you for a lot of their other songs. We’ll make sure people remember them.”</p><p>--------</p><p>
  <strong>INTERSCOPE STUDIOS, L.A. – MAY 2001 </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Reggie</strong>
</p><p>“What the hell was so urgent you needed me in at seven in the damn morning?”</p><p>Bobby shuffled into his manager’s office, blinking blearily as he sipped at the coffee the receptionist had kindly provided, looking for all the world like he was terribly inconvenienced by the mere existence of other people. Reggie sniggered quietly, because it was something of a comfort to see that Bobby really hadn’t changed much at all, even though six years had passed and his friend <em>had</em> changed physically.</p><p>Bobby had been offered a record deal to record Sunset Curve’s songs on a memorial album a month ago and had jumped at the chance.</p><p>He’d spent the better part of the last four weeks locked in a recording studio, trying his best to capture the soul of the songs they’d never gotten the chance to record by himself, and though the songs would never sound the way they were supposed to, with Luke on lead vocals and Alex on drums and Reggie on bass, Reggie thought they were <em>still</em> amazing.</p><p>He <em>was</em> a little biased though, but even Willie had agreed on the rare occasion he’d joined Reggie when he was hanging out with Bobby.</p><p>“I’m sure,” Alexander Coventry, Bobby’s manager, said with a smarmy smile on his face as he stood to acknowledge Bobby’s entrance into the room, “We’re all <em>very</em> sorry to call you in on such short notice, but I’m afraid this couldn’t wait.”</p><p>Reggie frowned in confusion and looked around the room. He’d seen Bobby chat with a few of the people here before—there was André Grayling, the producer who’d worked with Bobby on the memorial album and Alejandra Cortes Tabilo, who’d drafted the record deal Bobby had signed last month—but he didn’t know the third man who sat at the table, and he had a bad feeling about it.</p><p>Bobby, on the other hand, just shrugged and plopped down on the nearest chair, offering a smile to Grayling and Cortes Tabilo, who both smiled back, albeit a little hesitant.</p><p>Something was <em>definitely </em>going on and Reggie didn’t like it one bit.</p><p>“Well?” Bobby waved his hand impatiently when no one spoke for a full minute after he’d sat down. “What was so urgent you made me get up at five in the morning to get here in time after I spent most of the night here trying to finish recording to meet your deadline?”</p><p>Alejandra sighed heavily and set her hand on a stack of papers that lay innocuously on the table in front of her. Slowly, she slid them across the large conference table towards Bobby. “This is the contract you signed last month—a record deal for three albums with original songs that you would provide.”</p><p>Reggie’s stomach sank a little.</p><p>Bobby frowned and leaned forward, eyeing the pile of papers contemplatively as he pulled them closer.</p><p>“I know,” he said as he looked down at the first page. “I remember. Why—”</p><p>“We’re getting to that,” Coventry snapped abruptly, and Bobby reeled back in surprise, even though the man backtracked immediately. “I’m sorry, Wilson. It’s been a long night for us all.”</p><p>Reggie looked between the two men with wide eyes, but Bobby nodded, although he did seem a little spooked. “Go on,” Bobby croaked, and Reggie knew him well enough to know he was more disturbed by the apology than he had been by Coventry snapping at him in the first place.</p><p>Coventry opened his mouth to speak again, but the third man leaned forward impatiently, cutting across him rudely as he said, “No sense in beating around the bush here. Wilson, your albums will be marketed with you as a solo artist, not memorial albums.”</p><p>Reggie’s entire world screeched to an absolute standstill, breath punching from his lungs in a startled breath, and when he pivoted to stare at Bobby, he looked similarly poleaxed.</p><p>“What?” he breathed.</p><p>“We’re not going with the memorial angle,” Coventry repeated, although he shot an annoyed look towards the other man, who had leaned back in his seat now that he’d dropped the bomb. “We’re letting you know now so you’re prepared for the press tour once the first album comes out.”</p><p>Coventry turned his attention from Bobby to the other occupants of the room, and if Reggie hadn’t known Bobby so well, he wouldn’t have recognized the utter helpless fury that crept across his friend’s face, a match for the nausea that was steadily crawling up the back of Reggie’s throat.</p><p>Reggie… Reggie wanted to do something, say something, but even if he had it wouldn’t matter because <em>he was dead </em>and no one could hear him—but he couldn’t quite recall how to talk for a moment, because he couldn’t really think past “the memorial angle”.</p><p>Like all they’d been to Bobby was a way to market the songs.</p><p>“You can’t,” Bobby choked, his legs giving out from beneath him as he fell backwards onto his chair. Reggie hadn’t even realised he’d risen from his seat in the first place. “You can’t just do this—I didn’t—I didn’t agree to record these songs to sell them as if they were mine, they’re not—”</p><p>“I think you’ll find that we can,” Coventry interrupted him absently, although he was tense, and his hand were curled into loose fists. “The contract <em>you</em> signed says that we <em>can</em> actually. And we will—our market research suggests we’ll have much higher returns marketing these songs as a solo artist’s rather than a memorial for a band no one really remembers.”</p><p>“<em>I remember them</em>!” Bobby shouted abruptly and Reggie jumped. “They were my <em>friends</em>! I didn’t write those songs—<em>Luke</em> wrote those songs, <em>Reggie</em> wrote the songs—I’m not taking credit for any of this.”</p><p>The third man, whose name Reggie still didn’t know, shot a glance towards Coventry before leaning forward again, glaring back at Bobby, lip curling just a little. “I’d like to remind you these contracts include non-disclosure agreements—it would really be in your own best interest to accept that this is the way things are going to be. Things could get <em>very</em> ugly for you should you breach your contract.”</p><p>Reggie blinked, dumbstruck, and Bobby gaped at them, eyes wide and expression <em>furious</em>.</p><p>“We’re putting together campaigns to promote the album as we speak,” the man continued tersely. “Dates for photoshoots will be sent to you by tomorrow.” He eyed Bobby, who looked like he was going into apoplectic shock, critically and added, “Someone make an appointment for him with a hair stylist too. Depressed, starving artist isn’t the look we want to go for.”</p><p>“This isn’t right,” Reggie whispered, looking between the people in the room helplessly.</p><p>These were <em>their</em> songs. He loved Bobby and he wanted all the best for him, but he wasn’t cool with a record company <em>using</em> the things he and Luke and Alex had written and passing it off as solely Bobby’s—half those songs were incredibly personal and were about their relationships with each other and their families, and much as Reggie loved Bobby, he didn’t want him to pass off <em>In Your Starlight</em> or <em>Bright</em> as his instead of Reggie and Luke’s.</p><p>There <em>had</em> to be something he could do to <em>help</em>.</p><p>… could he haunt Bobby’s greasy asshole of a manager until he agreed to let Bobby dedicate the songs to the rest of the band?</p><p>He chewed on his lower lip.</p><p>Willie would be up for it—he always did like messing around with lifers who deserved it, like that one guy they’d followed home from a club after seeing him spike a girl’s drink—and they could probably round up a few other ghosts to make this guy’s life living hell until he gave in, but there was no telling whether he’d know <em>what</em> he needed to do.</p><p>“I don’t want this,” Bobby insisted again, but no one was listening to him, and Reggie felt like he was going to throw up—these people were treating their <em>death</em> like it was <em>nothing</em>, like it was something <em>fortunate </em>they could now exploit—</p><p>He inhaled in a shuddering breath and poofed outside of the conference room, leaning back against the door as he tried to calm down. There had to be <em>something</em> he could do to stop this, to help Bobby—to make sure that Luke’s parents <em>knew</em> how talented he’d been. That their dream had been worth chasing.</p><p>“Hello again,” a voice said from right beside him, and Reggie <em>yelped</em>, jumping back half a foot and nearly falling back through the door. When he managed to right himself, he realized the man standing next to him was, in fact, Caleb Covington—who Reggie hadn’t seen since he had left the other ghost in his Club right after Reggie had come back as a ghost.  Since he’d met Willie and the other ghost had told him to stay away from Caleb.</p><p>“Oh,” Reggie managed. “Hi? What—what are you doing here?”</p><p>“Just checking on some people I used to know,” Caleb waved his hand airily, smiling winningly, but Reggie glanced away from him, unable to focus on the man, biting his lip as he watched Bobby shout at the people in the meeting room through the window.</p><p>“Ah,” Caleb hummed, tilting his head as he looked over Reggie’s shoulder into the board room. “It’s always hard, isn’t it? Seeing the people you love dealing with something while you are just <em>powerless</em> to help.” He patted his hand on Reggie’s shoulder and offered him a sympathetic smile, and for a moment, Reggie felt a little better—he felt <em>understood</em>.</p><p>“It’s the worst,” he said, turning back to stare at Bobby. “They’re going to make him take credit for our music by himself. I know he doesn’t want to do it, but…” He bit down harshly on his lower lip, tears burning in his eyes. “I wish there was something I could do.”</p><p>In the brief silence that followed, Reggie watched Bobby throw the stack of papers he’d been given back towards his manager, screaming obscenities with flushed cheeks and glassy, tearful eyes, and he felt well and truly nauseated for the first time since he’d died. These people were trying to make sure Luke and Alex and him were <em>forgotten</em> so they could make money off of it and Reggie couldn’t <em>stop</em> them because he was <em>dead</em>.</p><p>“Ah,” Caleb said, and Reggie abruptly remembered he was there, blinking rapidly to make sure he wouldn’t just burst into tears in front of a near stranger. “Maybe there is something to be done,” Caleb continued and Reggie turned to<em> stare </em>at him, hope blooming in his chest despite his best efforts.</p><p>“There is?” He squeaked.</p><p>Caleb smiled broadly. “My dear boy, I’ve come to learn that for the right price, <em>anything</em> is possible.”</p><p>Reggie looked back towards Bobby, his only living friend, the only friend he had left from when he’d been alive, even if Bobby couldn’t see or hear him, even if Bobby didn’t <em>know</em> Reggie was still around—</p><p>“I’ll do anything,” he said, turning to look at Caleb over his shoulder. “<em>Anything</em>. Whatever it takes. I want Bobby to be happy, I want him to be able to this, and I want—I want people to remember them. <em>Us</em>. I want them to remember <em>us</em>.” He didn’t know what the price of what he’d asked would be, but he didn’t <em>care</em> either—he was dead anyway.</p><p>What did it matter what happened to him?</p><p>“Well then,” Caleb said, a mildly terrifying grin spreading across his lips, holding out his hand for Reggie to shake. “I think we have a deal, dear boy.”</p><p>Reggie exhaled shakily and reached out to clasp Caleb’s hand. “Ow,” he hissed, pulling back immediately at the sharp sting on his wrist, turning his arm just in time to see a flash of purple fading into his skin. He looked up at Caleb in confusion, but the other man just smirked.</p><p>“Just a little reminder of our deal,” Caleb said casually. “I will come to collect.” He patted Reggie’s cheek and added, “Your little problem will be solved by tomorrow.”</p><p>He lingered for another long, drawn-out moment before he poofed away, leaving Reggie standing by himself in the hallway, wondering what the hell he’d just agreed to—wondering if he’d just made the biggest mistake of his afterlife.</p><p>------------</p><p>
  <strong>VENICE BEACH, L.A. – MAY 2001 </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Reggie</strong>
</p><p>“You did <em>what</em>?!”</p><p>Reggie winced a little at Willie’s indignant, outraged exclamation and ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “…I made a deal with Caleb,” he repeated sheepishly, but he looked up at Willie defiantly too, because he was a damned adult by now, even if he was dead, and he could make his own decisions.</p><p>“Why the hell would you <em>do that</em>?” Willie exclaimed again, shoving at Reggie roughly. His eyes were wide and terrified and seriously <em>pissed off</em> and in all the years that Reggie had known him, he’d never seen Willie lose his cool like this, and he didn’t know what to do about being the reason that Willie lost it in the first place.</p><p>“He said he could help me,” Reggie admitted in a small voice. “Help Bobby. Make sure people wouldn’t forget about Luke and Alex, I—I <em>had</em> to, Willie.” He shrugged helplessly. “I’m <em>dead</em>. I never got to tell Alex I loved him, so I’m stuck here forever anyway. What could he possibly do to me that’s worse than that?” He inhaled shakily, blinking hard to avoid crying, because Willie was his only real friend and he didn’t want to disappoint him, didn’t want to lose him over this.</p><p>When he dared look at Willie again, the other ghost’s expression had softened.</p><p>“What did he want in return?” Willie asked quietly.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Reggie admitted. “I just—shook his hand, and this—this purple mark appeared on my wrist.” Willie rushed forward immediately, grabbing Reggie’s arm to glare down at his wrist. “It disappeared,” Reggie explained as Willie’s fingers trailed over the unmarked skin. “It glowed for a second but then it disappeared.”</p><p>Willie looked <em>horrified</em>.</p><p>“Reggie,” he whispered, “Do you have <em>any</em> idea what you did?”</p><p>Reggie blinked. Willie looked like he was going to be sick, and Reggie didn’t understand it, because <em>sure</em>, owing Caleb something without an actual definition of what that was sucked pretty bad, but it wasn’t like it was the end of the world either.</p><p>“Reg,” Willie choked, devastated. “Reg, you—”</p><p>“What?” Reggie whispered, glancing down at his own wrist as if it held the answers.</p><p>When he looked back up at Willie, the other ghost’s jaw was set in determination, anger burning in his gaze. “We’re gonna fix this,” Willie bit out, fingers tightening on Reggie’s wrist. “You’re coming with me and you’re <em>not</em> talking, do you hear me?”</p><p>“What?” Reggie blinked, confused.</p><p>Willie grasped his chin and shook him, his expression more serious than Reggie had ever seen on him. “Promise me,” he said insistently, “that you’ll let me fix this. Don’t try to talk, don’t try to interrupt.”</p><p>“Willie,” Reggie whispered, but Willie shook his head.</p><p>“Promise me, Reg,” he insisted. “Please.”</p><p>“Okay,” Reggie whispered, uncertain and shaken by the intensity of Willie’s gaze. “I promise.”</p><p>Willie exhaled in relief and leaned forward, pulling Reggie in for a tight, brief hug. Reggie sank into it gratefully, even if he still didn’t quite understand what Willie was up to, hugging his friend back tightly before Willie pushed him back. “Okay,” he said, hands tight on Reggie’s shoulders. “Okay. Let’s go.”</p><p>Reggie took his hand when prompted and closed his eyes when Willie poofed them away. It was disorienting to let someone else guide his apparitions, and the last time he’d let Willie poof them somewhere, he’d gotten the closest to throwing up he’d gotten since he’d died. When he opened his eyes, they were standing at the entrance to…</p><p>“The Hollywood Ghost Club?” He asked, turning to Willie in confusion. “What are we—”</p><p>“Fixing this,” Willie replied stony-faced. “Now let me do the talking.”</p><p>He pulled Reggie inside of the hotel, keeping a tight grasp on Reggie’s hand as they walked inside. “Covington,” Willie yelled, stomping into the grand ballroom without any sort of ceremony whatsoever. “Covington, I gotta talk to you!”</p><p>Reggie stared around with wide eyes—he’d only been here the once before, and it hadn’t been empty then, but filled with people in glamorous dresses and suits, the entire room sparkling with lights and music constantly playing in the background. Today’s scene, most of the lights dimmed and only a handful of people—ghosts—loitering around, all of them staring at him and Willie.</p><p>“Now, now, William,” Caleb suddenly spoke up from behind them, and Willie whirled around—dragging Reggie with him—to face the other ghost. “No need to shout.”</p><p>“I heard you made a deal with Reggie,” Willie said, barely even reacting to Caleb’s slight dig.</p><p>“Ah,” Caleb’s eyes flickered towards Reggie and he had to resist the urge to hide behind Willie, because there’s was something about the way Caleb looked at him that creeped him the hell out. “So we did,” Caleb nodded. “I think you’ll find I kept up my end of the bargain—your friend’s album will be released as a memorial album, as I promised. I believe he’s even contacted you and your <em>dear</em> friends’ parents to share the profits.” He gave Reggie a sly grin that made his skin crawl, “I believe there’s even talk of a documentary about <em>Sunset Curve</em>.”  </p><p>“Great,” Willie said dryly. “I’ll take Reggie’s end of the bargain.”</p><p>“What?!” Reggie blurted, but Willie shot him a sharp look and he shut his mouth again.</p><p>“Why would I agree to that?” Caleb drawled, eyebrows raised. “I already have one perfectly good soul.” He glanced towards Reggie again and this time, Reggie did take a step back, still clutching at Willie’s hand because… because… he’d traded his soul—he’d traded <em>his soul</em>for their names on their music.</p><p>Oh God.</p><p>“Willie,” he whispered, but the other ghost wasn’t listening.</p><p>“If all you want out of this deal,” Willie told Caleb steadily, squeezing Reggie’s hand reassuringly, “is a soul, then you can have one—mine. Not his. Take mine instead.” Reggie whimpered, but he didn’t say anything, because he’d <em>promised</em> and Willie didn’t want him to talk so he’d—he’d <em>try</em>.</p><p>Caleb stared at them, long and hard and piercing, and Reggie felt <em>sick</em>—</p><p>“Alright then,” Caleb shrugged, holding out his hand. “Your soul will do.” He clasped Willie’s hand in his and Reggie gasped in horror when the purple sigil burned itself into Willie’s skin and then winced when his own wrist <em>burned</em>, the sigil lighting up and then detaching itself from his skin.</p><p>“Great,” Willie said, and for the first time, Reggie heard his voice tremble. “I’m sure you’ll let me know when you have need of me.” He took Reggie’s hand again, glaring defiantly up at the man that now owned his soul, before poofing them both out of the club.</p><p>They landed on the beach and Reggie whirled around, staring at Willie with wide eyes. “What the hell did you just do?” He demanded.</p><p>Willie gave him a grim smile.</p><p>“I kept my promise to your brother,” he said shakily. “I kept you safe.”</p><p>Reggie whimpered again, rushing forward to sling his arms around Willie. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he sobbed, burying his face in Willie’s neck. “You’re my best friend, I don’t—I don’t want to lose you too, Willie! I can’t lose you too.”</p><p>Willie wrapped his arms around him too and squeezed him tightly. “You’re not going to,” he said. “I’m still here, Reg. I’m not going anywhere.”</p><p>Reggie shuddered in Willie’s arms and let himself believe that that was true.</p><p>----------</p><p>
  <strong>REGGIE’S PARENTS HOUSE, L.A. – FEBRUARY 2009 </strong>
</p><p>Fourteen years.</p><p>Fourteen years since he’d died.</p><p>Eight years since Bobby had released a memorial Sunset Curve album, causing a veritable <em>revolution</em> with their music, and since Reggie had inadvertently traded his soul.</p><p>Eight years since Willie had traded his own soul to save Reggie’s.</p><p>Six years since Bobby had gotten married and five years since Bobby’s daughter had been born.</p><p>Three years since the last time Reggie had dared to go see his parents—until today.</p><p>He sat on the kitchen counter with Willie, watching dispassionately as moving men moved the multitude of boxes into one of the big trucks that stood idling on the driveway. “Feels weird,” Willie asked quietly, “Doesn’t it?” He swung his legs, leaning his shoulder heavily against Reggie’s, and eyed the moving man that lifted the coffee table by himself.</p><p>“Yeah,” Reggie admitted. “I can’t believe they sold it.” He swallowed thickly. “I can’t believe they’re getting a divorce either.”  </p><p>Willie shrugged. “Maybe it’s for the best,” he said softly, offering Reggie a compassionate smile. “They hadn’t been happy in a long time. And they got a big sum for the house, they can both start a new life—be happy.” He exhaled and looked around wistfully. “I heard they’re tearing down the neighborhood. Maybe it’ll be good for us too.”</p><p>Reggie frowned, unsure what Willie meant, but before he could say anything, Willie continued, “Maybe it’ll help us let go too. I’ve been haunting this house, this area for decades. So have you, by now.” He shrugged and leaned into Reggie again. “Maybe letting go of this place is part of our unfinished business.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Reggie whispered, leaning into Willie too. “Maybe.”</p><p>They sat in silence for a while longer, leaning into each other before Willie jerked abruptly, wincing and hissing in pain, clutching at his wrist. Reggie bit down on his lower lip, reaching out to touch the faint purple outline on Willie’s wrist—a signal that Caleb wanted him at the club. “I wish I’d known what I do now,” he admitted quietly. “That I’d known enough to make sure this didn’t happen.”</p><p>“You didn’t know,” Willie said quietly. “It’s not your fault.”</p><p>“He owns your soul, Willie,” Reggie deadpanned. “You traded your soul for mine, of course it’s my fault.”</p><p>“Reg,” Willie said sternly, nudging his shoulder until Reggie looked at him, “I’d do it a hundred times over. You’re my friend—my brother. I <em>chose</em> this. I knew what I was signing up for.”</p><p>They’d had this argument a hundred times over, had talked about what had happened so often it felt like they were just going around in circles and Reggie knew that there was nothing to be done for it now, not yet, but he wished that there <em>was</em>. “I’m gonna figure something out,” he told Willie, just like he had a hundred times before. “I don’t know how, but I’m going to figure out a way to get your soul back.”</p><p>Willie smiled sadly. “Okay, Reg.”</p><p>They both pretended that Willie believed him.</p><p>“I love you, man,” Willie said, slinging an arm around him to haul him in for a tight hug, just like he had every time before he poofed to the club.</p><p>Just in case.</p><p>“I love you, Willie,” Reggie croaked, hugging Willie back briefly before the other ghost winced again, giving Reggie an apologetic grimace before he poofed away, leaving Reggie in the old house by himself. Reggie wrapped his arms around himself and looked around, trying to imagine how he’d say goodbye to this house—a house he’d spent his entire life in and quite a bit of his afterlife.</p><p>The house where he and Luke had shared a first kiss at twelve. A practice kiss, because Reggie didn’t want his first kiss to be with a random person—he’d wanted it to be Alex even then, even if he hadn’t really known what to do with that—and Luke had poor impulse control and Alex hadn’t been there to tell them it was a bad idea.</p><p>The house where Reggie had learned how to play guitar and bass, and later piano and violin and banjo—he got bored easily, okay—and where he’d first realized he was in love with Alex.</p><p>There were so many memories tied up in this place Reggie didn’t know how to begin to say goodbye.</p><p>It felt, in a weird way, like saying goodbye to his life in a way nothing else had before.</p><p>With a shaky exhale, he hopped off the counter and walked towards the front door, trailing his fingers along the wall as he did. When he reached the front door, he turned and looked back inside, at the empty shell of the house that had once been his home, that had once been Willie’s home.</p><p>“Goodbye house,” he whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek. “Goodbye.”</p>
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